


The Lighting Strike

by Hypsidium, inactivelyverby



Category: Epic (2013)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Dark, F/M, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Retelling
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-23
Updated: 2014-01-11
Packaged: 2018-01-05 15:37:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1095706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hypsidium/pseuds/Hypsidium, https://archiveofourown.org/users/inactivelyverby/pseuds/inactivelyverby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A retelling from the beginning of the movie. Professor Bomba has been missing and declared dead long before MK arrives at the house to try and salvage what's left of her life. Her mom, a famous author, died in a car accident some weeks ago. Unbeknownst to her there is a war being fought right under her nose in her back yard and she is about to be caught up in the middle of it.</p><p>As story develops tags may change.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fairness

Fairness was a nebulous concept to Mary Katherine Radcliffe. Fair would have been if she were still living in upstate New York, happy with her mother and her cat. Fair would have been that guy who plowed into her mom on the freeway having also been flung out onto the asphalt. Fair would be her mother here with her, riding in a taxi to the house her father had left behind when he disappeared eight years ago. All told, fairness did not exist to her. At the very least it was simply something that did not happen to her. 

Still, it was a nice concept if an unrealistic one. 

“You okay back there?” 

“Sorry?” She looked up from the window, startled and wondering if he had been talking this entire time.

“Nevermind, it’s alright. You just seemed a little down in the dumps.” 

“No, I’m fine.” 

“You sure? I could turn on the radio or something.”

“Yeah, that’d be fine.”

The cabbie was well meaning, even if he was obviously very curious about the daughter of the town’s former nutcase and now hotly contested missing person. Whispers she had heard while at the sheriff’s office getting the keys to the house had gone along the lines of theorizing Bomba - her father - had gone off into the woods and become a hermit. She wouldn’t have put it past him, really. 

The cabbie, his name was Larry now that she looked at his ID card on the dash, reached over and flicked on the volume of the radio, catching the tail end of a song. “-tand together and we will fight, we will stand together and we will rise.” The ending notes drew on for a few seconds before the DJ cut in.

“And on today’s news, Random House has announced that they will be issuing a special edition reprint of the entirety of the late Jennifer Nolen’s children’s series ‘The Leafmen’ in honor of her passin-” 

Larry reached over and turned the radio off, drumming his hands nervously on the steering wheel. “Sorry.”

“It’s alright. I’m used to it now. They actually asked me about it last week, wanted to get my permission.”

“Still.” Larry trailed off lamely.

“No, really, it’s fine.” She shifted in her seat to look at the passing scenery again. It was nearly a 35 minute trip from White Plains to the house, according to Google maps. Might as well enjoy it, for what it was worth. She didn’t plan to come back here after selling the place.

The trees were bowed in the summer heat, leaves still green but sagging as the moisture was pulled out of them by the sun. At least it was June and not July, it wouldn’t be quite as muggy as it could have been. It was just enough to be annoying; the air was thick and she felt damp just having traveled from one vehicle, to office, to another vehicle. If memory served the house didn’t have air anyway - she could have been wrong, she hadn’t been back since she was 3 - so she had that mess to look forward to. 

At least she’d be alone there, finally able to grieve without a dozen strangers clustering around her and feigning concern. The only real concern had come from her friends at school, and after a couple months and graduation she had gradually lost touch with them. It was more than partially her fault; she just didn’t want to answer texts or phone calls or go out and do things. She didn’t want to do anything, nothing at all except lay down and sleep. Every time she did lay down and drift into a restless slumber she prayed she didn’t wake up, just kept dreaming as the world passed her by.

That would be fair.

\---

“You’re looking all lost in thought again, Ronin.”

Ronin glanced towards the speaker out of the corner of his eye, then returned his attention to the fore. He couldn’t see her, but he knew the voice and was unbothered by her presence. He adjusted his posture on his bird to be a little more comfortable, feeling Bucephalus shift with him while giving him a chiding chirp. “I’m being observant. There’s a difference.”

“Paranoid, more like.” The speaker stepped out from behind the leaf, chuckling at him with her hands on her hips. “You need to relax sometime.”

“If this is paranoia then it’s been paranoia keeping you alive the better part of the last hundred.” He drawled, though he relented enough to lean forward and rest his arms crossed over the horn of his saddle. “Your Majesty.” He added in an undertone, almost as an afterthought.

Tara laughed, sitting down on the branch alongside his bird, giving Bucephalus an affectionate pat on the wing. He noted with disapproval that she wasn’t wearing her helmet, instead it was tucked under one arm and her hair was loose. Careless of her. 

“You should be at your post anyway.” He admonished, looking back out over the forest. “You’re supposed to be a lieutenant.”

“And you’ve been at yours since dawn.” She countered, reaching up to scratch Bucephalus’ neck where it turned to ruby. Bucephalus churred, dipping his head towards her when she produced a beeswax sealed bag made from the thick petal of a flower. From the smell it contained what was presumably nectar for him. Bucephalus politely licked the end she opened and drank up the sugary droplets.

“Stop spoiling my mount.” Ronin groused, twitching the reins.

“Then stop starving him. Poor thing.” Tara smirked up at him, standing and leaning an elbow on his knee.

“I’ve been letting him go to the flowers every 12 minutes, he is eating as much as he needs to.” Ronin sighed, looking down at her elbow intruding into his space. Not that he minded, in fact quite the opposite, but decorum called. He put a hand over her elbow, gently encouraging her to remove it. “Are you sure you want to do this? Today?”

“Only chance in a hundred years.” Tara grinned, keeping her elbow where it was. 

“In the middle of a war, Tara?” He dropped his voice to a near whisper, turning to look at her more fully. “This is insane. The forest needs you, not some unknown, untested...”

“They’re catching on.” She wagged a finger at him, her expression verging on serious. “The power needs to be passed on before they figure out that it’s me they’re after.”

Ronin sighed, looking back out at the forest to check for any sign of Boggans before he focused on her. “And then what? We don’t know who is going to be your heir, there is no way to prepare them for any of this. You were a Leafman, you were capable.”

“Past tense?” She raised her eyebrows.

He stared at her, frowning.

“You take me too seriously.” She nudged him in the side. “Are we ready?”

“No. But as her majesty commands.” He mock bowed to her. 

“And she does.” She lifted her chin, giving him a smug look. 

“Get your bird and we’ll get in the air.” Ronin shook his head.

She beamed and stuck a couple fingers in her mouth to whistle. In short order, Aodh, her own mount landed alongside them. Bucephalus fluffed up his feathers aggressively at the presence of the other male, but was too well trained to strike at him. Despite them being different species of hummingbird, Bucephalus a Ruby Throated and Aodh a Calliope, it was still a point of contention between them. Tara mounted up gracefully and Ronin had to remind himself not to stare. He cleared his throat, looking away and holding up a hand to signal to the other Leafmen that they would be on the move shortly.

Hopefully this excursion wouldn’t be their last, he had so many things to ask her once all of this was over.

\---

MK stared up at the house with a sense of dread. The place was in worse condition than she remembered, but then again the last time she had even been on the property had been when she was 3 or 4, just after her accident. One of the windows on the porch was broken, but it seemed that the wire mesh had kept whomever was trying to get in, out. Graffiti was sprayed across most of the reachable surfaces and it looked like someone had given a half hearted attempt at scrubbing it off. Oddly the yard still had a small, hand painted sign sitting beside a ring of mushrooms. “Keep out of the fairy ring!” it exclaimed. Funny, she had never thought her father would be into that kind of grandma’s garden stuff. She reached down and touched her thigh thoughtfully, feeling the metal frame of her brace. Since her mother’s car accident she had been neglecting her exercises and had quit going to the equine therapy she had been enrolled in. Normally she hated the brace; it was clunky, awkward, and for much of her younger years she had been teased for it, but now it was more of a reassurance than anything.

Larry got out of the cab, popping the trunk and reaching in to get the bags of groceries out. MK shot him a wan smile over her shoulder. So maybe she had misjudged him earlier, she hadn’t even asked him to help her and here he was carrying bags up onto the porch cheerfully. He set them down over the railing and collected her trunk as she limped her way over and got the last of her grocery bags. No sense in being without food and the power was still on at the place, so she could cook on the electric stove at least.

Larry held out a hand to help her up the stairs but she shook her head and used the railing. As rickety as it was she needed to do at least this much on her own. She dug around in the pocket of her jeans and produced the set of keys the sheriff had given her at the precinct. Then came the arduous process of figuring out which ones went to which of the overly numerous locks.

“Wow, looks like someone didn’t want anyone getting in. What is there to even steal all the way out here, old newspapers? That’s just a little kooky.” Larry blurted, then had the decency to look a little embarrassed. 

MK shrugged. “Hell if I know, Larry. My dad wasn’t exactly stable in the last few years.” She pretended not to notice the relief on Larry’s face when he was assured he hadn’t accidentally offended her.

“Listen, um. I’ve got a girl about your age, Melissa, she’s in summer classes at the university right now so her room is - If you need a place to stay, anything weird happens, you get scared, or need to talk, or anything? Me and my wife are just a phone call away, alright? Janet’s a counselor at the school, so.” He trailed off, shifting her bags in his hands.

MK smiled at him again a little more genuinely, at least as much as she could manage. “Thanks, Lar. I’ve got your business card on hand, I’ll give you a call if I need a quick getaway.”

“Don’t hesitate, okay? Sheriff Brown said that teenagers used to come out here sometimes to party, they had a hell of a time keeping them off the property. So you hear anything, anything at all, you call me straight away and you call the cops too, you hear me? Promise.” Larry set his mouth in a firm line and MK was reminded painfully of her mother’s no-nonsense face. 

She looked back down, pushing the door open and stuffing the keys into her pocket. “I promise.”

There was a pile of junk behind the door that made pushing it open more awkward than it should have been, but with Larry’s assistance they got it open. Larry immediately went to the kitchen and inspected the refrigerator while MK paused in the entryway, looking at the massive staircase and cluttered hallway. The house had once been beautiful, anyone could see that, the Victorian style architecture was still very apparent and the design was aesthetically pleasing. That made it’s current state all the more tragic. The entire house just felt tired, used up, and depressed. MK could relate. As she had suspected, the house didn’t have any central air, but a flick of the lightswitch at least turned on the overhead fan.

Larry returned, bringing her out of her reverie. “Well, it looks like your fridge is in alright condition. It didn’t even have anything in it, so that was good. The water runs fine too. I went ahead and put your groceries away and I think Sheriff Brown might have come out and cleaned up a little when she heard you were coming, there’s a jar of honey on the counter and a note. I didn’t read it.” Larry seemed to be talking more out of nervousness than anything else. It was obvious he felt a little apprehensive leaving her all the way out here by herself.

“Thanks Larry.” MK patted his arm. “I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. I’ll be fine though, and I swear I’ll call you if anything comes up.”

“Alright.” Larry nodded, his brow still furrowed in concern as he paused out on the porch, handle in hand. “If you’re sure.”

“Goodbye, Larry.” MK fought the urge to laugh. It was refreshing to have someone who was so honestly concerned for her instead of just offering sympathies because it was the socially acceptable thing to do. Larry’s actions were more like those of a father than she could recall her actual father ever being. She closed the door as the cab driver headed back to his vehicle, hands in his pockets. The car started up and rumbled off down the dirt road, leaving a cloud of dust to waft in through the broken window.

With Larry gone the dusty house seemed very empty and full of ghosts. MK felt like a ghost herself as she turned back to look at the mess. It was overwhelming and she had no idea where to even start looking for anything salvageable. She took a deep breath and glanced towards the stairs, grabbing her rolling suitcase. Might as well unpack and then maybe she’d have a better head for where to begin. 

One harrowing journey up the stairs later - they had creaked under her weight but thankfully been firm and stable, it was just her brace making it hard - she found herself standing in her surprisingly well kept bedroom of some 16 years past. Her pink walls, toddler bed with the floral quilt, her childhood drawings, even the tank that had once contained Terrence, her turtle. If the layer of dust could be overlooked then it would be like she had never even left. A cursory glance inside one of the drawers confirmed that the majority of her toddler clothes were still there. Now that she considered it, mom must have left in a hurry if she left behind most of her clothes. That just made her wonder about her dad and what kind of person he must have been. 

MK hadn’t had much contact with the man outside of the occasional birthday card that came four months too late. Granted, he usually wrote a page and a half letter to go with it, but it was mostly rambling about Leafmen. When she was young she had loved the stories but as she had aged she wondered if her dad realized she had outgrown them or if he thought of her as being perpetually four years old and in love with fairy tales, Barbies, and the color pink. Still, when news of his disappearance reached them her mother had been distraught, but MK had felt only a sort of detached interest. It had disturbed her how little her dad had really factored into her life, so she had feigned more distress than she had actually felt. Her mother saw through that, of course, but she didn’t say anything about it. MK wondered if her mother’s continued love for the man who had abandoned them was why she had left the power, gas, and water on at this house. If those hadn’t been on still she probably wouldn’t have bothered to come. She closed the dresser drawer and swept away some of the dust and random McDonald’s toys from the top so she could put her suitcase there. It was easier to access it that way.

She unzipped the front and left the suitcase sitting open. There. Unpacked. Good. She went to the door and took one look out into the cluttered hallways before shutting it with a click. With a sigh she sank down onto her too-short bed and went about taking off her brace. Maybe everything would seem better after a nap.

She woke from an unrestful snooze about an hour later, her back coated liberally in dust and her mouth as dry as a desert. She got up, noticed her leg still felt weaker than it should have, and grudgingly put the brace back on. Then she went back down the stairs and, after about fifteen seconds of deliberation, decided to start in the kitchen. True to Larry’s words, it looked like at least some of the kitchen had been cleaned. She picked up the jar of honey, apparently locally made, and read over the note quickly. Mostly another “call if you need anything” sort of sentiment, though it also mentioned that cleaning supplies have been left in the hallway closet. That was great because she had neglected to get any while she was shopping for the food to keep her fed for a week. She tucked the note into her pocket with Larry’s business card. The counter between the refrigerator and the sink had been cleaned spotless and the sink, stove, and refrigerator were also very clean. Bright spots in a dim, dusty world. She opted to just move everything that had nothing to do with the kitchen into the study for later sorting, which mostly involved piling junk by the doorway until she was ready to move it. That took up a greater part of the early morning and by the time it was ten she had a reasonably clean kitchen. Reasonably meaning that the counters were clean, the rotting boxes of ancient Hamburger Helper had been tossed out of the cabinets, and there was no longer half a desiccated and partially dissected frog or whatever sitting innocently by the telephone as though the professor had left it there to take notes on. She had tried to open the window to let some fresh air in but had been foiled by the mech lining the inside of the frame. It looked like her father had stapled chicken wire in over the windows.

Then came the part where she moved the ‘sort’ pile into the study, which led her to a whole new discovery. Instead of finding the walls decorated with her dad’s bug collection - he had been an entomologist and had taught biology at the local university - she found one corner of the room dominated by many venerable CRT monitors that were shockingly still turned on. She brushed away a layer of dust on the screen of one and realized it was hooked up to a camera somewhere outside. A quick look through them revealed each monitor, around 26 in total, was hooked to a different camera located around the surrounding forest and the house. A few were dead, some that must have bitten the dust over the years and some that simply showed static from some long dead camera. Nearby was another display case her father had obviously been working on, this one including a tiny saddle, little bows and arrows, and some pieces of ‘armor’, all neatly labeled. She hadn’t thought her father was so arts and crafts oriented, but each little pieces was very nicely made.

Weird. Weird, weird, weird. Oh well, it was something she could worry more about later. For now she lugged in the piles of bric a brac she had collected out of the kitchen and set the various objects wherever she could find any free space. That done she decided to treat herself to a break. She washed her hands, then as an afterthought her forearms and face in the kitchen sink. A brown muck slid off her skin and she grimaced at how filthy she was. Hopefully the water heater still worked and she could manage a quick shower before bed. She popped open the fridge, got out a slice of bread and a can of Coke, and took the jar of honey with her out onto the front porch. She grabbed a handful of papers on her way out the door, intending to go through them and sort trash from things she needed to keep.

She sat down on the steps to enjoy the breeze, even if there wasn’t any real relief from the heat with it, and dipped her piece of bread shamelessly into the jar of honey. The sun was still high overhead by the time she finished off her Coke and set the can down beside her. The birds were singing and the cicadas had come out to wail. It was better than silence, at least. She had just reached down to collect another sheet of paper off her stack when a gust of wind tore it right out of her hands and sailed it across the yard. She watched it go, debating just forgetting about it, but then her better judgement kicked in and she got to her feet with a reluctant groan. The other teenagers might have left broken beer bottles and cans laying around her yard, but she was no litterbug. She stepped off the dirt path to collect the sheet and noticed the sign again, with the circle of mushrooms. All at once she felt angry, angry that her father gave enough of a shit to put a stupid sign in his yard but not enough of one to call her even once, angry that her mom had died while that asshole drunk off tequila had barely a scratch, angry that she was out here in the middle of nowhere. 

She kicked the sign over, stumbling when her brace didn’t flex with her knee. Sometimes she forgot about it when she hadn’t worn it in a while. She staggered, stepping over the mushrooms into the center, glad no one had seen her awkward stumble. Take that dad, she thought with a sneer, looking back at the cracked signpost.

That was about when everything turned streaky and she was blinded by a brilliant white light.


	2. Catalyst

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Leafmen run into some trouble and MK meets a trespasser.

It seemed as though everything had come to a complete stand still, like the entire forest held its breath as the small squad spread out onto the pool. Tara was amongst them, of course, and Ronin had eyes only for her group. She was well hidden amongst them when she was wearing her armor, and her unofficial rank of lieutenant made her even better camouflaged. Occasionally one soldier or another would pick up a pod, but all of them made the slightest of deferences to her when she inspected any they happened to be holding.

Ronin glanced away, nervously scanning the perimeter before looking back down. Group Five was wandering too far to the edge of the pool, but before he could react Finn came down out of his tree and motioned for them to head back towards the center, returning to his post immediately after they got the hint. Ronin scanned for Tara again, catching her picking up a pod and contemplating it with a great deal more care than the previous ones. She carefully tucked it under her arm and nudged one of her companions. It was done. She had chosen, and they could get the hell out of here. One of the others in her group held his pod aloft, a motion quickly followed by every Leafman on the pond. They began creeping back towards the treeline, several of the mounted escort exiting the trees to stand guard over them. 

The breeze came back, blowing through the leaves with a rustle. Ronin felt he could breath just that much easier. Then a rank smell hit his nostrils and he turned in his saddle at a crackling sound, seeing a nearby leaf mold and quickly turn crunchy. He drew his bow, a shorter version of the one the ground troops carried meant for mounted combat, and nocked an arrow. He didn’t draw just yet, settling the grip into the palm of his hand and looking for the source. The Leafmen on the nearby branches noticed his bow in his hands and nocked arrows of their own, waiting for his signal. 

The leaves rustled around them and there was a sudden hot breeze wafting over them, carrying the stench of death and decay. The leaves withered and died, drifting down from the branches like fallen soldiers. The Leafmen across the pond would be alert and on their way now, he was sure of that without even looking.

With a loud crack the bark beneath Bucephalus split apart and Boggan arms reached out, grasping the hummingbird by the legs and holding him in place. Bucephalus made a high pitched screech in surprise, jerking underneath Ronin and trying to peck at the Boggans holding him. Ronin grunted, bringing his bow to bear under his panicking mount and shooting the root of the arms on his left side. As the hands released he was dismayed to see that they had fitted the tips of thorns into their palms, drawing blood and hooking into Bucephalus’ flesh. Similar cries nearby confirmed that this had been their tactic with the other Leafmen and hummingbird mounts still in the trees. Bucephalus continued to screech, now trying to take flight and get away from the hooks. He swung in a circle, unable to get away and unwilling to stay in place. Ronin gritted his teeth, trying to both control Bucephalus and shoot, and being unable to do either effectively. His second shot went wide, catching another Boggan in the thigh but leaving the one still grasping Bucephalus intact.

That Boggan was of unusual size, as big as a full grown Bullfrog and twice as ugly. It grinned at him, revealing teeth that had been filed to points, and jerked Bucephalus by the leg so that he slammed into the branch, stunning the hummingbird and drawing Ronin closer. It spoke something in a guttural language, pulling one hand free of Bucephalus’ leg and striking at him with the hooks on its hand. Ronin leaned back, keeping his face out of reach. The hooks scraped against his ceramic breastplate with a sibilant squeal.

The Boggan curled its fingers around his breastplate and lifted him one handed off of Bucephalus, opening its mouth to roar in his face. Ronin squirmed, pulling an arrow from his quiver and ramming it into the Boggan’s eye. It screamed, dropping him onto the branch and letting Bucephalus go, drawing shaking fingers up to its bleeding eye. Ronin nocked another arrow.

“Hey, mud-walker.” He called casually, sidestepping a smaller Boggan as it charged at him and then continued straight off the branch to its death below. “I’d appreciate it if you kept your hands off my bird.”

The big one turned and roared at him, its voice a mixture of pain and rage. Perfect. He drew an arrow back to the its full length and shot directly into its open mouth, the stone tip bursting through its skull and out the back in an explosion of blood and viscera. The Boggan seemed shocked, twitching hands fingering the arrow through its mouth and staggering backwards until it lost its balance and tumbled from the branch. 

He turned away, grabbing Bucephalus’ reins as the bird shyed to the side, chirping softly when he remounted and urged him off the branch and into the air. Bucephalus responded much more smoothly in the air and off his injured legs. They turned into a nosedive, wind rushing past and carrying away the sounds of battle around them. He had to find Tara and be sure she was being guarded. Bucephalus nearly skimmed the pool’s surface, giving Ronin a better look at the field. Up in the trees it was hard to tell which way the fight was turning; thus far the Leafmen had not given up the high ground and he saw quite a bit of green amongst the brown. Boggans were still bursting from under the bark, but the rest of the troops had caught on to that tactic now and were fighting back more effectively. 

The teams on the pond had already fled off towards the banks, leaving him to sort out where each had gone. He urged Bucephalus forward, making a swift loop around the pond, ducking under the blooming lilies and wishing they weren’t obstructing his view. Finn came up on his right side. 

“Have you seen her yet?” Finn asked, turning in his saddle to shoot a Boggan who had come too close to the edge of the pond. 

“No. Report.” Ronin drew Bucephalus to a halt, hovering over the open waters while Finn divulged their current situation. The Boggans had bored hundreds of holes just beneath the cambium of the tree, leaving the trees living and outwardly healthy. This was troubling, but he would devote more thought to it later. They were also consistently trying to keep the sun at their backs, using the light to blind the troops. Thus far, though, they had not struck out at any of the groups on the pond. Clever tactics, they had someone directing this.

“What are they waiting for?” Finn frowned, another arrow still nocked to his bow. A Boggan surfaced quietly beneath them, reaching up for their birds. Finn shot it without looking and it sank into the depths. 

“They’re waiting for the queen to transfer her power to the pod, when she’ll be at her most vulnerable. This is a distraction to keep us off balance. They know the transference can only happen at high noon.” Ronin scowled, pulling Bucephalus up, away from the water. “Order a withdrawal, they have the field advantage now and we will not win this battle without heavy losses, which is what they are counting on. Find the queen and regroup at the outpost.”

“Sir.” Finn came to attention and hurried away to rally his troops. In short order the troops were withdrawing, raining arrows in their wake to discourage followers. The Leafmen with stout hewn stone swords were beating the signal to regroup on their shields, sounding like distant thunder. 

Ronin wheeled Bucephalus in the direction of the forest, nudging him in the sides with his heels for an extra burst of speed. In short order they were under the cover of the cattails and marshmallows. Leafmen around him were fighting off the aquatic Boggans that had emerged dripping in pond muck. With the cattails grown so close the Boggans’ grackles couldn’t maneuver as well between them, lending more advantage to their rear guard. He continued onwards, catching a flicker of ginger in amongst the green of the treeline and assuming that was Finn searching out the queen. He chose to wheel towards the other side of the treeline, hurrying through the tall grass and into the foliage that led into the forest. Or rather, he would have had a shadow not passed directly overhead and a sudden weight landed on his shoulders, throwing him from his bird and into the damp earth. He rolled to the side just as a metal knife was driven into the ground. 

Most Boggans and Leafmen eschewed metal blades and arrowheads, or rather, had until recently. Iron was poisonous to their kind on either side, prolonged exposure as close to the skin as a hand held blade could cause delirium and sickness. A cut with one would leave a scar very much like a burn wound and having it driven deep into your body would most certainly cause death. It was not as bad for Ronin, and not for his specific kind of people, but for most other forms of forest spirit it could be incredibly devastating.

So for someone to be using a short metal knife on him was shocking, to say the least. He got to his feet quickly and backpedaled a couple steps, getting a better stance under his body and evaluating his enemy.

The Boggan was short and squat, with a slanting, wide face and intelligent orange eyes that reflected the light filtering through the leaves. The hand holding the knife was wrapped in mud caked leaves and strips of fiber woven cloth, preventing the metal from touching his skin at all. He didn’t recognise him by physical characteristics alone, though. To Ronin all Boggans looked generally the same. What he recognised was the way he waved off the other two Boggans that had accompanied him, leaving them to land on the grass above with arrows trained on Ronin with lethal intent. He was obviously their leader.

“I’m glad I found you before you made your way out, I was hoping we’d have a chance to talk, General to General!” The Boggan’s mouth spread in a facsimile of a smile that only looked grotesque to Ronin. Too many sharp teeth and far too wide for his face.

That told him who this was specifically. “Dagda.” He greeted, unsheathing his sword and circling his opponent. Dagda turned with him, moving smoothly and without concern. 

“Ronin. You’ve been causing my father more trouble than you’re worth, you know?” Dagda’s free hand went to his opposite hip, pulling a short, mineral blade free of its scabbard. 

“I mean to be a lot more trouble.” Ronin let the corners of his mouth quirk upwards. Dagda was obviously cocky, but he wasn’t being stupid enough to simply charge him. Time to goad him. “Why don’t you come see what kind of trouble I mean to be? Or are you a coward?”

Dagda considered it, eyes narrowing slightly while the rest of his face remained frozen in a cheerful grin. “No, I think I’ll pass. Why don’t you come to me?” He gestured with the mineral blade.

Damn. He was a smarter than he had anticipated. Ronin didn’t have to look up to be sure the other two Boggans still had him trained in their sights. If he won this fight they would shoot him from above and if Dagda had them with him specifically then they had to be decent shots as well. He didn’t let this show on his face though, keeping up the casual talk between them. “No, here is just fine.”

He threw his sword, which of course wasn’t balanced for throwing, but it made Dagda flinch and hit the dirt anyway. Every forest spirit with any sense would have done the same. Ronin took the opportunity to duck back under the leaves, avoiding being pelted with the arrows that rained down into the dirt where had stood, getting his bow back in hand and nocking an arrow. He looked at the arrows sticking out of the ground, guessed where the owner of at least one of them was, poked his head out just long enough to fire up at the Boggan, and withdrew back to cover. He was rewarded with a shriek of pain and excited voices while he nocked a second arrow and held a third ready in his fingers.

A rot arrow crashed through the leaves, leaving dying leaves in its wake and drawing up decay from the soil just short of Ronin’s feet. He jogged to the side, stopping and pulling the arrow back to his cheek, stepping out from his cover to aim at the skies. A swift search revealed the other archer and he loosed the arrow. It struck the grackle, not its master, but that knocked the Boggan off its back and onto the ground. He dashed towards him, picking up his sword as he passed. The Boggan got to its feet, a little dazed, but pulled a metal tipped arrow from its sheath and clumsily nocked it to the bow. Ronin scowled and swung, first to knock the metal tip off the arrow, then to crack the beam of the bow. The bow, predictably, was tensioned so high that that small weakness caused it to shatter in the Boggan’s hand, raining splinters onto it. He finished the archer quickly, flicking the blood from his sword before sheathing it once more.

He whirled to find Dagda but the other General was nowhere to be found. With a grumble of annoyance he stuck two fingers between his lips and whistled for Bucephalus, mounting as the bird passed and continuing towards the trees. He’d wasted far too much time here.

\---

When MK came to she was startled to find herself on the ground, on her back, and surrounded by trees. While she couldn’t quite see yet, she could tell she was in the shade and there was a broken up canopy overhead, ergo, trees. A cursory peek through squinted eyes confirmed that assumption as well as assaulted her with piercing light. She closed her eyes again. She had no recollection of having gone into the forest. She tried to sit up and was hit with a wave of dizziness and nausea.

A voice nearby, male, said something softly. She snorted, jumping in surprise and immediately regretting it. Hands urged her to relax while inspecting the back of her head. She winced, hissing through her teeth when whoever it was found a knot. She must have fallen and hit her head.

The man - boy she immediately amended, his voice was too light and his hands were too slender - said something again in a questioning tone. She couldn’t place the language, she’d never heard anything like it. It lilted, like a song.

“Uh...Do you speak English?” She chanced, holding up a hand to shade her eyes and trying to open them again. It was a little better. Slowly the boy came into focus. He looked about her age and his brow was furrowed in concern. Somewhere behind him there were another couple people milling around. He had messy hair which normally she would have found kind of cute, but that wasn’t what caught her attention. The fact that he seemed to be wearing armor in her front yard made absolutely no sense. 

“Are you some kind of reenactor?” She had seen some people dress in weird medieval-esque clothes at her high school a few times, but those people carried big padded sticks they claimed were ‘swords’ and the sword on this boy’s belt looked like it was real.

He turned away from her, saying something in that same lilting song-like language to the fuzzy people on her peripheral vision. He kept his hands on her shoulders, keeping her from jostling too much. It made her increasingly uncomfortable to be touched by someone so unfamiliar. 

“Hey! Can you talk to me here?” MK demanded, lowering her hand cautiously. After letting herself adjust the light wasn’t nearly as painful.

“Uh...” The boy looked at her, then skyward as though he were trying to remember something. “I Nod...You?” He made a gesture to himself, then to her. He had a thick accent and sounded as though he were still trying to make the words sound musical. 

“Nod?” MK raised an eyebrow. Maybe it was his role playing name, no one in their right mind would name a kid ‘Nod.’ Better to just roll with it though. “I’m MK. Why are you in my front yard?”

“F-front yaaard?” He drew the words out, perplexed. He shook his head, squeezing her shoulders in his hands. “You hurt?”

“Yeah.” She scowled at at him, pointing at the back of her head. He must have felt the bump, so he ought to know already. 

“Ah.” He grinned sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck and looking up at the sky. Thunder boomed even though the sky was still clear, altogether too loud. MK covered her ears, shuddering at the renewed ache it sent to her temples. 

The boy, Nod, frowned, looking at the other people who were slowly coming into focus. He spoke to them quickly, ending on a questioning tone. One of them nodded at him, waving for him to come along and heading away. Nod turned back to her, holding out a hand and helping her gently to her feet. “Storm soon, you come with us? Not safe.”

“I’ve got a house, thanks.” MK snatched her hand away, scowling at him. “You never told me why you’re in my yard anyway.” She crossed her arms defensively.

Nod didn’t say anything, just gave her that same blank stare. He made a motion for her to follow him. MK hesitated, unwilling to follow some stranger, but she reconsidered when the same overly-loud thunder sounded again. She didn’t know how she had gotten into the forest, nor did she know how she could get out, and if these trespassers knew or had a phone then she would be better off than standing outside in the rain. She limped after him, annoyed that he was so quick on his feet and that her brace was slowing her down. They were stopped by one of his companions - some girl with sallow skin and dark hair, MK wondered if maybe she was sick - who pointed at MK’s brace and gibbered at Nod excitedly. Like she was maybe afraid of it. MK glared at her, in no mood to be stared at.

“Ah, what is...?” Nod pointed at her leg. “Sword?”

“What’s...Are you guys from some country without healthcare or something?” MK was agog at how he could possibly mistake her brace for a sword of all things. His perplexed silence prompted her to explain. “It’s a brace, it helps me walk.”

“Braze.” He repeated, rolling the word over his tongue like he was tasting it. His expression said it didn’t have a very good flavor.

“Brace. Sss.”

Nod sighed, looking up at the sky in concern and back at her. “You ride me.”

“What.”

“Ride me?” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder, indicating something beyond the trees.

“Are you shitting me right now?”

“Sshi-?”

MK held up a hand to cut him off. So she had jumped to a conclusion there. “Right, okay, lets just get inside before it storms.” The air had taken on an acrid sort of smell, like rain and electricity in the air. She didn’t want to spend more time arguing with a stranger who didn’t know English.

Nod bobbed his head, a sort of full hunch of his shoulders, and turned to walk lightly around a big tree trunk. That was when it struck MK as weird that these tree trunks were all green, when they should have been brown. She tried to dismiss it but, upon brushing up against one and finding it fuzzy she halted in her tracks and for the first time looked up and actually concentrated on the canopy, not the sky. 

Trees did not look like that from below.

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, Verby is awesome and everyone should know that. She's been helping me muddle through plotting this out and a lot of the back story that will be introduced later on as well as beta-ing like a boss.


End file.
